After the auction house, I locked myself in a rented room and began to study the book.

  I placed her on the table carefully, as if she could bite me.

  Up close, she looked even heavier. The gold decorations on the binding were not just an ornament — they created intricate patterns, reminiscent of magic circles. The jewels set in the corners pulsated with a barely perceptible glow.

  I opened it.

  The very first pages made me squint.

  The symbols were familiar—in part. The structure of the spells resembled classic spatial magic schemes, but the way of writing... was completely different. As if the author was deliberately hiding something. As if the text was encrypted.

  I read slowly.

  Line by line.

  I didn't understand much.

  I knew only one thing: this book was on a much higher level than I was.

  It was not a book for a student.

  This was a book for someone who had long since crossed the borders.

  I spent a few days trying to decipher it. I analyzed the symbols. I drew them on separate pages. I tried to match the formulas I knew.

  Nothing worked.

  The spells would fall apart halfway through the structure. The energy did not want to stabilize. I felt only a slight resistance in space—as if the world was repelling my attempts.

  Over time, I started to get bored.

  I wasn't used to idleness.

  Against the wall.

  There is still a lot of time left before leaving the capital.

  Sitting in a room and staring at symbols no longer made sense.

  Then I thought of an elf.

  What about her?

  How is she doing?

  The image of her face from a few days ago—frightened but determined—came back to me unexpectedly clearly.

  The thought began to torment me.

  So much so that I finally got up.

  When I was getting along with the assassin, he told me that he would train her in the nearby forest. About two hours on foot from the capital.

  I didn't take anyone with me.

  I went out alone.

  The road passed quickly. The city gradually remained behind me, the cobblestones turned into a compacted road, and then into a narrow forest path. The air was cooler. Quieter.

  The forest was dense, but not wild. Traces of human presence could be seen—an old fire, trampled patches of earth.

  I slowed my pace.

  I didn't want to be heard.

  After a few minutes, I spotted them among the trees.

  They were there.

  I found them surprisingly easily—and that meant they let themselves be found.

  The assassin stood a few steps away from the elf. They both had short blades in their hands.

  I watched their sparring from hiding, standing behind a thick tree trunk.

  The elf has changed.

  Her movements were faster. More decisive. They no longer had the uncertainty I had seen on the first day.

  She attacked low.

  Quiet.

  With a flair.

  And when she managed to hook his sleeve with the blade, a light, deadly smile appeared on her face.

  I didn't know that an elf could change so much in such a short time.

  She did not go back.

  She did not avoid fighting.

  She was willing.

  Hungry for progress.

  I watched in silence for a moment.

  I analyzed her attitude. Footwork. Reactions to seductions.

  It wasn't good yet.

  But it had potential.

  Then I heard a calm voice:

  "You can get out from behind the tree now."

  I didn't flinch right away.

  I looked in his direction.

  He didn't look directly at me.

  He was looking into the space next to him.

  But he knew.

  I slowly came out of the shadows.

  "Your stealth technique is decent," he added with a slight smile. "But the observer also leaves traces.

  The elf turned abruptly.

  When she saw me, her face stiffened for a split second, as if she wasn't sure if she should be afraid.

  I stopped a few steps away from them.

  "I can see progress," I said calmly.

  And I really saw it.

  I came closer, stopping at such a distance that I would not enter their training space.

  "How is it going?" I asked calmly.

  The assassin wiped the blade against a piece of cloth and looked at me with a slight, unreadable smile.

  "She's a quick learner," he replied. "she already knows most of the theories. Movement structures, angles of attack, death points. My training is strict, but I absorb everything without complaining.

  I looked at the elf.

  She was sitting a few steps away on a fallen trunk. She was breathing harder than usual, but she didn't look exhausted. Rather focused. Her hands were resting on her knees, and her eyes were fixed on the ground.

  She didn't speak at all.

  "And practice?" I asked.

  "She lacks experience," he said. "Theory is one thing. Actually killing someone without hesitation is another. He hesitates for a fraction of a second.

  A split second is enough to die.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I nodded.

  We talked for a while about the details of the training. About her footwork. About the fact that she should practice the silence of breathing. About the fact that she has to learn to control her emotions, even if her face remains unmoved.

  The elf didn't interrupt us even once.

  She listened.

  After a long conversation, I decided that I had no reason to stay.

  "Go on," I said briefly.

  I turned around and headed towards the city.

  The way back took another two hours. The forest slowly thinned, and the path turned into a road leading to the walls of the capital again.

  When I walked through the gate, I felt tired.

  Not physical.

  Fatigue with analyzing. Studying. Observation.

  I needed something simpler.

  I decided to find a team.

  From the beginning of the mission, I knew them all too well. I knew where to look for each of them, without even asking.

  The first place I went to was a bar.

  I was sure they would be there.

  Throughout the trip, they were the ones who drank the most alcohol. Regardless of the situation, they always found time for a pint.

  I stopped at the entrance and leaned against the door frame.

  It was noisy inside. The smell of alcohol, sweat and smoke mixed into the heavy air. Laughter, screams, the clatter of mugs.

  I noticed them right away.

  They were sitting at a large table in the corner. The swordfish was clearly the drunkest—his movements were slower, his voice raised too high.

  I watched without emotion.

  Suddenly, a muscular man approached the table. He said something. I didn't hear the words.

  I only saw him swing towards our swordfish.

  He, despite being drunk, reacted instinctively.

  He grabbed a mug and hit the muscleman on the head.

  Deaf sound.

  Instant knockout.

  The silence lasted a fraction of a second.

  Then the fight began.

  The chairs were falling over. Someone shouted. Someone threw a bottle.

  I stood at the entrance and watched it with tired eyes, slightly squinted.

  It was nothing new for me.

  I've seen them in similar situations many times. Alcohol always ended in the same way.

  I didn't feel the need to intervene.

  It was not a fight for life.

  It was stupid.

  I turned calmly and walked out of the bar before the situation could escalate even more.

  The noise was left behind me.

  The night air was cooler.

  And quieter.

  At that moment, when the cool night air filled my lungs, a thought came that I could not ignore.

  I was the leader of this group.

  If something happens to them, I am responsible.

  Not an innkeeper.

  Not the city guard.

  Yes.

  I sighed softly.

  And without hesitation, I slammed back into the bar door.

  They hit the wall with a loud crack.

  Inside, the situation has managed to get worse. Two men attacked the swordsmith, who tried to cover himself with his hands, half-conscious from alcohol and blows.

  I didn't scream.

  I didn't warn you.

  I grabbed a pint from the first better table and threw it at the closer attacker.

  Accurately.

  The glass struck his face with brute force. There was the sound of cracking pottery and bones.

  He fell immediately.

  His face was so deformed that for a brief moment I wondered if it could really be cured even with magic.

  I didn't analyze any longer.

  I ran to the other man.

  Before he could turn around, I kicked him in the crotch with full force.

  Not out of rage.

  From calculations.

  He bent over, moaning in pain, and I grabbed him by the collar and pushed him to the floor.

  The bar fell silent.

  Not completely — someone was still breathing heavily, someone was cursing under their breath — but sufficient.

  I turned to my team.

  My eyes, slightly squinted, moved over each of them.

  "I'm responsible for you," I said calmly. "One more such action and I will cut you half of the funding.

  I didn't raise my voice.

  I didn't have to.

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Then, one by one, they looked down.

  "I'm sorry," muttered the swordsman.

  "It won't happen again," added someone from the side.

  I nodded.

  I didn't need long translations.

  After a few short words, I left the bar — this time for good.

  The night was cold.

  The wind moved between the buildings, slipped under the cloak and blew on the face. For a moment, I allowed myself to go slower.

  Fatigue returned.

  Not physical.

  Responsibility weighed more than the teleportation book.

  Walking towards the room, I began to wonder.

  If I didn't have a mask...

  If I hadn't used an artifact hiding my hair and elven ears...

  Would they respect me the same?

  Would they see me as a leader?

  Or just another person to challenge?

  I didn't know the answer.

  Maybe respect came from strength.

  Maybe in secret.

  Maybe because I never let them see the hesitation.

  The cold wind blew harder, blowing the cloak away.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  I didn't want to think about it anymore.

  Not today.

  Today I just wanted a warm bed.

  And silence.

  Alcohol-free.

  No responsibility.

  No masks — at least for a few hours.

  The next day I decided to start preparing for the next trip.

  The time spent in the capital was coming to an end. Every day of delay increased costs and risks. I didn't like stagnation — neither in plans nor in movement.

  I needed a few books to supplement my basic knowledge. Teleportation was out of my reach, but I could strengthen the foundations of spatial magic. In addition, I had to replenish my supplies: dried meat, rusks, bandages, oil for blades.

  And potions.

  Healing.

  Mana regeneration.

  The latter were more expensive, but more necessary.

  For most of the day I wandered between bookstores, alchemists, and merchant warehouses. I talked briefly. I paid without haggling where the quality was obvious. Where it wasn't — I looked longer until the seller lowered the price himself.

  The city lived differently than a few days ago.

  It was louder.

  Colorful ribbons began to appear above the streets. Wooden structures grew up near the main squares. Merchants set up additional stands.

  The next day, the festival was to take place.

  I didn't know what it was about.

  And to be honest, I wasn't interested in it.

  I didn't care about the religion of this world. Nor its traditions. Christmas was for people who had time to celebrate.

  I had goals.

  Nevertheless, I watched the preparations with cold curiosity. The tents were set up in equal rows. Some were supposed to offer food. Other games. Still others... less obvious entertainment.

  On one of the tents I noticed an inscription advertising fortune-telling.

  I smiled under the hood.

  I didn't believe in destiny.

  But I was bored.

  And I have a few coins left.

  I changed direction and went inside.

  It was twilight in the tent. Thick smoke rose from the ceiling, smelled of herbs and something sweet, which was probably supposed to have a calming effect.

  In the middle stood a low table.

  Behind him sat a woman with her face covered. Her hands were slender, her fingers decorated with thin rings. A glass ball was resting in front of it.

  It looked cheap.

  It was probably artificial.

  "Come closer," she said quietly.

  I did it.

  "Put your hand on the crutch."

  I laid it down.

  The glass was cool.

  A minute passed.

  Then the second.

  The woman was silent.

  I could only hear the crackle of burning incense.

  I was about to say that I was leaving and that it was a waste of time when suddenly something changed.

  The woman opened her eyes.

  Not slowly.

  Not theatrically.

  Violently.

  Her pupils dilated unnaturally wide.

  She looked at me.

  No," she looked through me.

  As if she saw something behind my back.

  Frightened, she tried to get up from the chair, but she caught her foot on it and fell. The chair fell over with a deaf sound.

  Backing up on the floor, she didn't take her eyes off me.

  She started crying.

  It was not an ordinary cry.

  It was crying combined with horror.

  As if she was looking at something that heralds death.

  "No... no—" she whispered, moving away.

  I didn't move.

  I stood still, my hand still resting on the crutch.

  Her reaction was too violent to be part of the show.

  Finally, she crawled to the back exit—probably intended for workers—stood up shakily, and ran away.

  She left me alone in the tent.

  The silence was heavier than before.

  I took my hand off the bullet.

  I looked at her carefully.

  It didn't shine.

  It didn't break.

  It has not changed color.

  I waited a little longer.

  Maybe he will come back.

  She did not return.

  I sighed softly.

  I wonder what it was about.

  Did she see anything in my future?

  Or maybe something in my past?

  Or maybe I was something she couldn't understand?

  I turned around and walked out of the tent.

  Outside, the hustle and bustle of festival preparations continued as before.

  No one paid attention to the fact that the fortune teller had just fled in panic.

  I looked at the purse.

  Ten bronze coins less.

  Poorly.

  But at least it wasn't boring.

  I stood in front of the tent for a moment, looking at the wavy canvas of the entrance, as if the woman was about to come out of it and explain her behavior.

  She didn't come out.

  People passed me by indifferently. Children ran between the stage structures, merchants argued about space for stalls, someone tested an instrument whose sound falsified in half tone. The festival was supposed to come tomorrow, and the city was already restless.

  I moved on.

  I didn't believe in fortune telling, but her reaction wasn't fake. The fear was real. I've seen him in people's eyes too many times to confuse him.

  Did she see anything specific?

  Death?

  Blood?

  Yourself?

  I involuntarily touched the mask on my face. The artifact hiding my elven features worked flawlessly. The aura was muffled, hair and ears covered with illusion.

  And yet she reacted as if she saw something she shouldn't.

  I ignored the thought.

  I couldn't let a random woman with a crutch influence my decisions.

  I returned to my rented room late in the afternoon. I put my groceries on the table and started organizing them. I placed the potions in an even line. I put the books aside—the teleportation one was still lying apart as if it didn't fit in with the rest.

  I sat on the bed and stared at the wall for a moment.

  Fortune teller.

  Her eyes.

  Her receding hands.

  If it was a theater, she would try to stop me. Sell an additional service. To warn of "great danger" for another fee.

  She ran away.

  That was the difference.

  Darkness fell.

  The first sounds of celebration began to come from the streets, as if people could not wait until tomorrow. Laughter. Singing. Crowd.

  I walked over to the window and opened it slightly.

  Cold air flowed inside.

  I closed my eyes.

  For a short moment, I tried to feel something in the space. Some kind of change. Disorder. A trace of magic that could explain her reaction.

  Nothing.

  The space was stable.

  That calmed me down more than anything else.

  I sat down at the table and opened the teleportation book. Not to understand it. To remind ourselves that there are things that cross borders.

  Maybe the fortune teller saw just that in me.

  Crossing.

  I didn't fully belong to this world. I didn't think like them. I didn't believe in their gods. I didn't feel attached to their traditions.

  I was a tool with a purpose.

  I closed the book.

  Tomorrow, the festival will fill the city with a crowd. Crowd means confusion. Confusion means opportunities. But also threats.

  I should warn the team not to get involved in more fights.

  I should check if the elf finishes training before leaving.

  I should finalize my travel plan.

  The list of responsibilities was long.

  And yet, somewhere under the layer of cold calculation, the question remained:

  What did she see?

  I lay down without taking off my mask.

  Not because I had to.

  Because it was safer that way.

  I closed my eyes, listening to the distant sounds of the city.

  If destiny exists, let it try to catch up with me.

  I'll go my own way anyway.